


To Serve

by pGblade



Category: 2PM (Band), EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, BaekYeol - Freeform, ChanBaek - Freeform, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Period Piece, Pining, Prompt Fic, brief khuntoria mention, im not sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:19:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4700639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pGblade/pseuds/pGblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minseok has lived his entire life, put every fiber of himself into serving in the palace. He relives the series of events that led up to this morning, one of joy for every heart in the realm but his own: the prince - his prince - and the wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: His Morning

**Author's Note:**

> pairing: Nickhun / Xiumin  
> prompts: morning routine and/or the perfect butler  
> rating (optional): ~~PG~~ Mature  
>  genre (optional): drama
> 
> This started as a joke because I thought the prompt was so ridiculous. Then I started writing and I guess I'm not stopping? Idk. I have a lot planned but yeah. Anyway. Thanks!

The sharp peal of the summoning bell cut into his dreams, bleeding them out in vague images and muffled senses until it died with his awakening. He felt for his pocketwatch, nestled in its cushioned box on his bedside table, the case and timepiece the most expensive things in the room, by far. Not including himself, he wagered wryly. The darkness of his thoughts fit the day itself beautifully, as perfectly as a Parisian corset, setting the same constriction in his chest. Not that he’d ever admit being familiar with the feeling, even on his deathbed. He rose and turned to the small iron stove that filled the whole corner opposite, opening the grille and stoking a fire from the evening’s embers with a few expert puffs of breath, filling his cheeks and peering in drowsily at the swirling ash until a glow surfaced. He tossed a few sticks in to feed it and set his clothing iron on the dark surface above. Next, he pulled a long splinter of wood from among many in a heavy clay cup nearby, lighting it on the burgeoning flames and lifting it to his lantern for more light, meager as the morning was. The lantern was likely the third (or fourth) most costly piece in the room, wrought with clear glass, ivory detailing, gold filigree - completely out of place in the modest and tidy quarters as a simple light source. It could have been a pure silver bedpan, or a riding crop woven of silk. The heady scent of perfumed lantern oil filled the room as it heated, and he pulled his most formal uniform from far behind his others in his small wardrobe - tight breeches and hose, a double-breasted waistcoat in his master's colors, with double pointed tails and two columns of shining silver buttons down the front that he set to dusting straight away. His scowl didn’t show on his face, but his eyes raked the outfit with a tinge of disdain, a memory ticking, there. He placed each item carefully on his bed and stooped reflexively to retrieve his ironing board, beginning with the breeches and trying to fight off his thoughts with the meticulous handling of the hot iron in his hands. Though it was nigh impossible for him to mistake the task at hand, he failed miserably at the other.


	2. Presenting

     The day he met the Prince was not on necessarily on an occasion of joy. It had been the only other time he’d been forced into a starched collar and full finery like these he now pressed on his own - his Presentation day at the palace, which had been the first time he’d even been allowed among the carpeted halls of his home during the light of day.

     He recalled his childish fascination at all the colors coming to life in full sunlight, vibrant compared to what glances he’d stolen by lantern while snuffing candles or tending to other evening tasks in the dark. He had recalled catching a mouse in that very corner, crouched under the medium-sized accent table, which had seemed pitch in the night. He itched to touch the deep redwood, if only to polish it, feel it’s fine texture and warmth under his hands. He started when the head butler (a wrinkled grey creature all were endlessly afraid of) cleared his throat minimally, that fraction of a sound enough to snap his tiny senses back to sharp attention, properly trained as he was. He was the son of a proud butler lineage. He would not, could not, disappoint. Especially not on this day. He stole glance up at the vile old man, still holding himself with every inch of pride - if his parents had managed to convince this stuffy sack that he’d be worth Day Service, then that would be precisely that. He raked his eyes over the rest of the boys and girls on the way to to Present, some older, some younger, all taking the same measured and conscious steps as he. Even in his youth he criticized privately - this one lacked decorum, eyes winking with too much intelligence and mirth to trust. That one lacked grace, clearly forcing his gangly limbs into compliance with their steps. They walked too close together, stole too many secret smiles at each other, one flashing a square and the other teeth for days, weeks. Quietly, he felt sorry for whatever wing of the palace fell under their sorry care. He straightened and continued to move, knowing that the hours he’d spent perfecting his Palace walk showed clearly, carrying him primly and gracefully through the massive double doors that led to the throne room. He caught the corners that he typically polished as he passed through and found pride in their shine. He also caught the head butler eyeing him critically, which caused him to instantly school his features into an impassive mask. This marked the beginning of a habit that would never really leave him.

     As instructed, the children took their places at the foot of the dais, placing their hands on their chests and executing bows and curtsies as proper. He felt his leg extend fluidly, turning the palm of his relaxed right hand up, the elbow at a precise 130 degrees, the other hand finding the exact location of his heart as his entire upper body lowered perpendicular to the floor in perfect deference. He heard the scuff of a shoe and knew someone had made a mistake. He winced privately and bristled when he heard a hint of a snicker nearby and, further away, a laugh. It caught his ear, not quite cruel, a little nasal, drawing him somehow. None of their brood would dare to laugh openly in the presence of the King - he resolved to find the source. The customary pause ended with the monarch's intonation of "rise," and he did so in the way of the palace-worthy, placing his feet together, stacking his backbones atop each other smoothly, hands folding behind his back, gaze unwaveringly straight. That didn't stop him from taking in everything. Particularly, the sullen boy standing beside the throne.

     To the left of the King, whose hand was as encrusted with jewels as the armrest below it, was a boy that he knew to be not much older than him, but was far larger. The finest care, diet, and lifestyle had created some grotesque picture of health that he disliked almost immediately, the worn finery and the thickness of his limbs so different from every other child he’d ever seen. He bit back bitter jealousy far easily than he would have been able to in private. Here, before the all-but-faceless King they daren’t look in the eye, his servant eyes met the rogue’s by fleeting accident, darting away after catching the barest beginnings of a smile creeping there. He heard the wavering voice of the head butler announcing each of them, including their age and their lineage, causing each one to attempt another bow. His, of course, was clearly not an attempt - he felt the singular peace of doing something right settle on him as he held the position through his credentials. Minseok, 10 years old, first born of the Kim Family. He straightened, face frozen in calm deference, still looking straight ahead. After all of them had been announced, there was brief moment of quiet murmuring between the King and Head Butler that they were expected to studiously ignore, before all were dismissed to the sitting room. They filed out in the same orderly fashion until the door closed behind them, then he watched the rest scatter to claim seats.

     Once out of sight, they dissolved into much chattering and general ruckus, since their collective upbringing meant every one of them was naturally able to freeze into attention at less than a moment’s notice. He decided against sitting, taking up a position near the back of the room in quiet observance. The two troublemakers from else-wing shoved themselves onto the same overstuffed chair, the larger smashed comically into the corner while the smaller filled the thing, his force of presence making up for what his physical slightness lacked. They were unfortunately near to him, so he could not ignore their babbling, despite how much he wanted to.

     "...like as much, don't you think, Yoyo?" The tail end of the smaller boy's barking lilted over, almost musical, almost a laugh. "There's no chance! You'll be in the stables for sure!" He hid shock at their rough housing, rather, how easily the brat batted the larger about his oddly shaped ears. Abuse taken, there was only a wide grin in return, lacking more than a few of those still-plentiful teeth. It wasn't abnormal for boys to behave as such - he had won his fair share of tousles in the courtyard or on the shores of the lake nearby, but here amongst girls and strangers... well. They were none of them truly strangers, but the wings of the palace were so vast and the work so plentiful that overlap was rare and generally too heavy for socializing - long scullion hours in the kitchens scrubbing pans or driving spit dogs, or brief, haunting glances in the dead of night made for precious rare conversation outside of one’s wing rest days. Minseok's wing was the nearest to the Queen's Quarters and produced less children than any other, especially the East, which marked the stables that housed the King's prizewinning steeds, or the South near the fields that bathed in light dawn til dusk and cast gold on everything, rich and plenty. No, Minseok's wing was domestic, and his line was one of many time-honored and proud, walking side-by-side with the Royal Family for generations. His tiny hands had been preened for the white gloves of Head Butler since birth - it was high time a local family took this honor back from the foreign “usurpers” (as his father named them in bitter, hushed tones). Looking over the other children gathered, the quality there, he lamented his solitary status as the only one of his Wing's caliber. It was a shame the Song family had given birth to a girl. As fantastic a maid she was, proving herself to both chamber- and handmaiden a mere year after Presenting, she would only ever be a maid, after all... he was startled from his reverie by loud cackling. The loudest boy's bright gaze had found him.

     "What think ye, West?" He piped, smiling a wide square and leaning over the chair's cushioned back. "Think Yeol'll make it in, 'spite bowin' wrong?" Minseok's mind found the name, Chanyeol, another Park of the South, which made this one Southern, too... a Byun, by his eye. He made an effort to show a polite smile. An awkward moment passed while he realized the question wasn't redundant. He cleared his throat and closed the distance to facilitate an appropriate volume of speech. The big-eared lug of a Park had twisted in the chair to look, openly forlorn or apologetic for his friend, now almost draped on the smaller one. Put upon like this, he had little choice but to answer.

     "The bow has little to do with it, I think," he said, softly. "But... Placement is as mysterious to me as it is to you.” He found a sudden shock of embarrassment at his voice, so light and high compared to the downy qualities already surfacing in the small Byun and the already-low timbre of the Park as they squawked and rumbled laughs, respectively.

     "Ain't he learned, though, Yeollie?" Byun elbowed his counterpart, who hummed in agreement. "West Wing as all get out!" The slip of a boy was already turning to leave him in peace, but the lanky one remained, fixing him with big, watery eyes.

     "If I get stables, can I still see Baekhyunnie?" He asked, voice sounding as empty as his head. Minseok forced another smile.  


     "Palace staff may still go where they please at free time..." the effect was immediate, huge mouth splitting the boy’s face in a grin as he turned to shove the smaller, who cried out in irritation.

     "See, I told you! It's not like you'll be tra-" he was cut off by an instinct, a minute tightening in the air, a stiffening near the door causing a wave of dead silence and scrambling into place. Every child was on their feet, lined in two instinctively perfect rows, ready to be assigned their posts. Minseok felt another stab of pity for those with unclear futures but, as ever, would not let it show.

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you love boring hierarchies? I LOVE BORING HIERARCHIES. Do you also like sumptuous descriptions and excessive detail of utterly worthless things? Dope. You're damn right I researched different kinds of wood for like 20 minutes. The [end table in question](http://nebula.wsimg.com/b076e2bc1c471a81b2cd9ca343e7855e?AccessKeyId=9CD5BCC80DF5A7061B2B&disposition=0&alloworigin=1) is a smoother, far darker cocobolo wood, not a redwood, thank you very much. Please forgive young Minseok his ignorance. He was only 10 at the time.


	3. Enlightening

     Unsurprisingly, he was accepted into the ranks of Day Service, engulfed into hugs and praise by his parents and Wing mates when he found his new name, “Xiumin,” placed on a very early morning rotation that only saw a couple hours of daylight at the end of it. That he had any actual daylight granted was high praise in itself, but he wanted more. Two hours was fine. He could work with that.

     Also, it turned out that the irksome pair of boys from his Presentation class did indeed get separated. He learned this because he found himself with a rather clingy new “friend” the next morning. Apparently, the sprightly little boy possessed something the King had liked, because they were on the very same rotation.

     “Mayh- _perhaps_ ,” the boy grated on their first day, causing the feeling of a smirk to touch his face, “they paired us together for teaching’re something.” Minseok was suspended in disbelief for a moment, suffering embarrassment at the horror of a compliment or the shock of self-awareness coming from this boy. Perhaps both. This dissolved under a square grin and a swarthy tone, low and secret and alone with their fancy heavy lanterns in the empty hallways. “You got a few things you could learn, Mandoo-seok.”

     Terrible nicknames aside (though he had to admit that he preferred any of them to his new given name and spited any and all other Minseoks in palace employ), there was still time to forge a significant friendship. He learned everything about Byun Baekhyun for better or worse over the years, watching the world through the other’s eyes as he spent his own days shadowing his parents, picking up and swapping shifts with other staff to experience other tasks and increase his performance range. The younger continued to successfully keep Park Chanyeol as a main fixture in his life, meaning he heard recounts about the lumbering stranger’s brief stint at squirehood and rapid subsequent apprenticeship with the Palace’s musicians. He even got to hear about how the squire’s bells were so strange because they had so much daylight but so much more spare time, and how he’d gotten caught with a lute decorating the noblemen’s stable by the right man. And wasn’t he ever going to stop growing? Minseok began to wonder if the boy was the size of a pike by now. It was clear that the two of them would never catch up, both remaining slight even as their bodies began to pass from childhood weediness into lanky youth. Gradually, the boys’ natural tendencies balanced each other out, and Minseok became slightly less reserved around others, while Baekhyun learned to at least perform a version of the other’s balance and poise, when required. While Baekhyun danced in a vivid display of propriety, Minseok was the flawless execution, the singular flex in the arches of a ballet pose.

     He did not go unnoticed. Xiumin left Baekhyun behind to the honor of the broad day shift, the same bells that the Palace Staff and the Royals woke to. The shifts to swap for these were important ones, and his build and age gave him the unique ability to cover for any shift he pleased, wearing Maiden’s clothes as well as any, in the right light. He donned the full veil to hide his hair and snuffed the candles in the room of the Queen herself, one underwhelming night - he had expected to feel nervous, shaky, scrutinized in the presence of the queen, but when he saw the small woman in her nightgown, book in hand by the light of one perfectly scented beeswax candle the price of the castle’s entire oil budget, he was able to fulfill his task as easily if it had been empty. This made him quite popular among the palace girls, who all loved to avail a free evening if the boy was willing to keep working amid the sly murmurs of his peers. Among them dear Victoria, fellow Westerner and possessor of their self same grace in long limbs and wide eyes, effortlessly curried his favor before anyone else, rarely as she did. One evening, taken sick and dreadful, she’d been summoned to draw water and deliver it to the chambers of the Royals, and Xiumin donned the veil easily. He tied the skirts and tucked the sashes as swiftly as any girl could have, and swept in delicate steps down to the kitchens, carrying the pitcher and cups easily back up to the set of rooms he’d once feared. The king was not in his quarters, but Xiumin left full basins just the same. The queen was reading in hers, and didn’t even look up at him once. The little princesses were both long asleep, and he expected the same of the Prince. He’d heard about the Prince through Baekhyun, who heard from Chanyeol how very exciting it was to watch him ride and fight, and how well loved the boy was by his people. He was apparently strapping by all accounts, already nearing what a man should be, but Xiumin had only just started taking notice of such things with his own lacking growth, and he hadn’t gotten a look at him to judge. The chance wouldn’t come this time, either, judging by the darkness of the room when he entered, setting down Victoria’s lantern and the pitcher beside the basin. It took him completely by surprise when the hand wrapped around his mouth and a warm body was pressed all along his back, but he did not scream. He was simply too quiet for that, too controlled.

     He started to struggle, wrapping his hands around the thick wrist but stopping when he heard it, felt it against his ear. The laugh from the throne room. It was strange- he hadn’t been flush against anyone since he was a child, long gone from the bunks of children, far too old and busy now for hugs from his mother, and those never from behind like this, forearm wrapped around his waist. The strangeness of all of it held him there, stilled by the low voice at his ear.

     “I thought you’d never come.” Something about the way he said it went crawling down his spine, distracting him from the movement of the hand at his hip, working slowly at the careful knots he’d made. “It’s been too long,” he felt fingertips on his hip and something he was rather certain of at his back so he inhaled sharply, wrenching himself away to regard the other boy, stone-faced. Even standing there in nightrobes wearing the most ridiculous look of confusion, beetled eyebrows pulled close on his frown, it was hard to classify him as simply a boy. He was only two years older than Minseok, but the same healthy color and weight had turned to muscle. Everywhere. The prince fell to the bed hard on his ass, struck dumb with confusion. Myriad emotions flickered on his face, but he seemed to acknowledge some kind of defeat, as his first words started haltingly. “Where’s Vict-”

     “You shouldn’t.” Minseok had been correcting behavior for far too long to let something like this pass unnoted. The prince was as yet unaccustomed to scoldings from servant boys dressed as girls. The royal mouth opened with indignance, but Minseok was in too deep. He spoke again. “If she becomes…” The prince stood, but he stood his ground, even as he was steered swiftly to the door. “If there’s a bast-”

     “Don’t you think I know what will happen then, boy?” He hissed, more than a little frustrated at the turn of events. He pulled his door open and all but pushed Minseok out, who stood in the doorway, belligerently whispering.

     “Then why risk all that for,” he thought of what the other boys called it, they hardly spoke of anything else, “for a soft bit of ars-” there was that laugh again, incredulous this time, as the pitcher was shoved into his arms. He would never forget the Prince, this man of noble birth, someday the King of these lands, as he stood there almost undressed, half-hard, dishonored, shamed.... and laughed.

     “There are other ways.” He said again in that tone, and shut the door on Xiumin. Victoria never let him cover for her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man when can I get to the smut already JEEZE. Oh yeah, after a mountain of backstory DUH. Wasn't there gonna be angst? Shit what am I doing.


	4. Confronting

     It certainly wasn’t that he was ignorant. True, the smallness of his Wing made for a very tight knit and proper community, where boys were in short order and most had too much shame to be openly uncouth, at least around Xiumin. He’d simply been too busy to really focus on any of… that… side of burgeoning adulthood. He had goals to meet, duties to attend to. He’d recently picked up some extra work with the quartermaster in the stores and was rarely ever in the same wing for any significant amount of time to notice how his peers were pairing off, two by two, into one short-lived love after another. Perhaps that’s why, in the years after his very distracting encounter with the prince, he began to catch sight of it; lingering looks, couples sneaking around ill-travelled corners of the wings or the service corridors, and faint sounds coming from the day-dependent East Wing in the late evening. It sounded like a struggle, at first, so he stopped in his tracks as every muscle tensed with the thought of danger. Then they were tense with something else, nervousness, embarrassment, but most of all curiosity and a deep shame at the latter. The belief that he had more pride than youthful curiosity vanished as he shut the gilded blinders on his lantern and took silent, halting steps down the hall. The noises, the soft clang of glass and metal set down too fast, breathing and voices, still hushed, grew louder with every step, and soon he saw the glow of soft light from a door, left slightly ajar, a lovers' mistake. The right thing to do was to march back down the hall and make a noise of some kind to spare all three of them the embarrassment of a discussion and, to his credit, he almost did until a desperate name caught his ear.

     "Baek," the low voice was definitely not a woman's. In fact, he had a very good idea of to whom it belonged. And if it was indeed who he thought, and if he indeed was talking to who he thought, the next morning would see at least one very tired, very important Day Servant. The instinct to suppress irritation at shirking duty came difficult for Xiumin toward everyone, but it became near impossible when he was supposed to spare Byun Baekhyun. He had worked on this boy for years, he was not about to let him stray now of all times. The intent was to look inside to confirm his suspicions and rectify the behavior. After the first part, he found it very difficult to continue.

     He and Baekhyun had always been small, everyone was comparatively tall. This boy, though, Park Chanyeol- Baekhyun hadn't been exaggerating, for once. He dwarfed the smaller even more than he had when they were children but, just as it had been then, somehow the enthusiastic youth overwhelmed the size of other's sinewy frame. He'd seen Baekhyun naked countless times while bathing, but had never seen him like this, his skin lit by soft light, golden with the color of it, shadows hiding in the dimples of his back where Chanyeol's fingertips found them. The larger boy was paler, skin taking more light and standing out against Baekhyun's hips and back as he grasped at them, huge hands roaming. They were connected at the mouth, breathing desperately, and when the musician pulled back and up from the kiss he looked torn, winded, brow troubled as he leaned away from the eager attention being lavished on his neck and collarbone. It was entrancing to watch his head loll back, his eyes close, and the harsh bob of his throat while Baekhyun continued down his torso, the hardness of a squire gone soft with music as his skin had grown pale without the outdoors. Baekhyun's hands, always clever and quick to learn anything Minseok could teach him, flitted briefly at the boy's waist and drew his trousers roughly down to mid thigh. He did not need an imagination to figure out what was occurring then, and he turned from the door just as the large boy groaned weakly, and Baekhyun's muffled voice answered him with his own. Why did it look and sound like it hurt? The groaning tone never stopped, but the words were confusingly positive, all praise, turning desperate and then asking him to stop? Baekhyun's panting, hoarse voice pleading, saying he needed him, Yeol, please, he just- shifting sounds, a weak cry, growling, spitting, a sharp hiss, murmurs, the sound of skin against skin again and again... his legs came back to life when the cursing started. His escape was fleet, but he couldn't escape his thoughts or what he'd seen. It distracted him just as much as his encounter prince had. Irritating. He hoped that he'd have the table settings sorted before daybreak.

 

     "Byun Baekhyun." He had done his best to keep the sharpness from his tone, but they had known each other too long. The rectangle of his smile faded slightly, confusion shoved aside by brightness and even a touch of fondness. He didn't say anything else, only turned expectantly and made his way down the servant's corridor to their left. He remained silent as Baekhyun chittered his usual bout of one-sided smalltalk until they reached a shared quarters that was empty. He stood to the side as Baekhyun entered, nervous grin flitting over his shoulder and remaining as he sat on the cot Minseok gestured to. They sat in silence, the elder unreadable, and Baekhyun barked a tense laugh. Minseok began.

     "You look tired." He opened, mindful of keeping his hands at his knees instead of crossing his arms. He watched sharp eyes blink and reshape with thought as the boy registered his words. What he said, though, was completely unexpected.

     "So do you." Instead of the tone being vindictive, he was surprised to hear genuine concern. Or a very well-crafted concern. "You're always working, Baozi," another horrible nickname. This one he hadn't heard in years. He'd shed the weight that had earned it. "Where have you been? Do you even have set bells, anymore?" Unprepared for an interrogation, and he felt the stone resolve of his original intent flaking.

     "I'm- it's," he only questioned why he had to explain himself after he'd already started. Never one to gossip, he pushed thoughts of Head Butler Habersberger's imminent retirement from his mind. "There'll be promotions soon. I'm doing everything I can." He saw his opening and paused meaningfully. "You should be, as well." He couldn't hold himself back anymore, and crossed his arms. Baekhyun's eyes flicked downwards at the gesture and gave a knowing smile, but it slipped from his features when he looked back up, back to soft concern.

     "Look, Minseok, I know-"

     "You need to be more responsible with your time."

     "So do you," for the second time in less than 3 minutes, Byun Baekhyun irritated him. This, combined with so much inexplicable pity, caused an immediate spike of regret at having approached him. The uncharacteristic hesitation was unnerving. "I know what you're after, but-" Bells sounded. This conversation had lasted minutes longer than it needed to.

     "I don't have time for this." Minseok stood, straightening his vest. "You and Chanyeol should be more careful." The expression on his face would have been comical under different circumstances, but he didn't spare a moment to appreciate it. He had to go. **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for stickin' with me on this weird ride. it's not an E rating yet but that might change someday?? shit idk. do you hate how i'm writing minseok? i kind of hate how i'm writing minseok. but yo there's gotta be room for character development right? namsayn? yeee you got me


	5. Contradicting

     He didn't see either boy again until the day of his promotion. Since they were already official palace staff, a formal ceremony was not required; rather, those who would be receiving promotions and their families were allowed an evening of respite to hear the assignments and celebrate. Xiumin walked on air to his parents' graves, elatedly telling them of everything that had led up to this moment, everything they'd missed, the hard work, the hours that explained his absence. He knelt, fingertips brushing the simple stone markers, and told them he'd make them proud. Working such a short day felt odd, but he made final checks with the evening coverage and entered their dark mess hall still beaming. Candles flickered in every corner of the dank off-kitchen basement, light everywhere on coarse fabric, the finest rest clothes any of the gathered had. He took a place near the enormous Royal Assignment Board above the hearth, the ancient slate gone pale with years of names scratched into its surface, the fire that burned at all hours keeping it lit for all to see. If he'd run his fingers against it a bit longingly from time to time and knew that the stone was unnaturally warm, that was his business. Head Butler Habersberger appeared and all went silent.

     There wasn't a soul in the room that didn't know the old man to some extent. Even with all his years, he did not stoop with age, back rigid and countenance as severe as ever. Minseok had never been to one of these affairs -both of his parents had reached their highest echelons of servitude before their respective passings - so he simply folded his hands expectantly and watched in the echoing silence. The wizened creature did not yet remove the iconic white gloves, instead turning to the slate and grasping white chalk in his bony pincers. Minseok's stomach clenched. The only sounds were the softness of erasure and furious scratching that seemed to last far too long. When the scarecrow form drew back the slate was illuminated again, and all breaths caught. Fanatic self-control kept his eyes from the board, unable to look, opting to watch the ex-Head Butler remove his gloves and pull another pair from his coat along with a hand full of wax-sealed Royal notes. He approached Minseok and his stomach turned, turned, kept turning as he was passed. The bastard stopped before his son and presented him as Head Butler. The others cheered, cheered for this smiling buffoon, generous mouth lopsided and open. True, the man was well loved but wasn't Xiumin, in some ways? This man was painfully affable, nothing like his father, nothing like what a Head Butler should be. At least, that's what Minseok thought. And wasn't he too flippant for a militaristic North Winger, living amongst the Knights and the soldiers and all that other rabble? Didn't he lack the grace, the poise- Xiumin's Royal Assignment found his hands and he stared at it blankly, willing it to burst aflame. He stood and made for the servant’s corridor immediately, pace steady but not brisk. He didn't realize he was being followed until his own name caught his ear, fixing him in place. It was late, there was no one to hear, but he still whirled on Baekhyun with a scowl, who padded up the hall with his oaf in tow.

     “Minseok, I tried to tell you-”  
      “Keep your voice down,” he hissed, admittedly lashing out. They'd known each other too long for the words to really cut. The smaller boy, true to form, simply kept talking.

     "The other day, I wanted to tell you," too many words, never enough substance. He made to turn around again but was caught by a large hand. Aghast, he stared up into a blunt face set between those ridiculous ears. He almost laughed, but the sound was too cruel even in his head. A scoff of indignant disbelief came instead, while the prattling continued. "I knew, if you'd only stopped for one moment and listened to me, you'd've known too, and it wouldn't have been such a shock, but it isn't so bad, ah? It's a right bloody higher honor than king've the wretches, and we'll-" he lost steam when bright eyes fell on the seal of Xiumin's note, unbroken. Then there was a wary awe. "Y'didnt-"

     "You had," the correction came faster than he could think, exasperated, while he wrenched his arm from the weedy tree trunk and made to open his own assignment note, unconcerned with anything but the Head Butler he’d craved, deserved. "You would have. Would not. Is not. King of. We... will..." correcting Baekhyun's speech he could do in his sleep. As he read, instinct fell victim to shock, shoved aside. "You.... didn't." 

  
      He had been assigned as Royal Butler to the Crown Prince, from this day until the end of his days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are you ready for some MOPINNNGGGG
> 
> i kind of want to write like a game of thrones kpop thing now, instead
> 
> FRIG


End file.
